


Alone Again

by carrionkid



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Angst, David Lives, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 07:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11755077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkid/pseuds/carrionkid
Summary: David survives the antlers because they're bone and not wood. He's alone for the first time in a long time and it hurts a lot more than he thought. Now he's trying to deal with being alone. This is just a lot of self indulgent vampire stuff because I fucking love vampires. Also I have a bad knack for getting deeply emotionally invested in cult horror movies (cough cough the evil dead franchise)--Up until now, David was certain he’d crushed all the leftover human parts of himself. Life and death were only a triviality and he was cocky, a byproduct of being mostly immortal. All he remembers is falling, thrown back by Michael. Michael, who was finally, finally becoming what he always could’ve been. He would’ve been perfect, so fierce and so loyal and so deadly. David even would’ve turned Sam if it meant Michael would stay.





	Alone Again

Up until now, David was certain he’d crushed all the leftover human parts of himself. Life and death were only a triviality and he was cocky, a byproduct of being mostly immortal. All he remembers is falling, thrown back by Michael. Michael, who was finally, finally becoming what he always could’ve been. He would’ve been perfect, so fierce and so loyal and so deadly. David even would’ve turned Sam if it meant Michael would stay.

 

When he hits the antlers, there’s a split second of surprise. He’s so unused to pain that it takes a moment to place it. The gaping wounds in his chest ooze thick, sticky-hot blood and he can feel fluid building in his lungs. He can see the tips of the antlers sticking out from his chest and he’s certain he’s dying. The burning ache only grows as he slides farther down on the bone.

 

Bone. Not wood. That’s good. That’s really really fucking good. It means he isn’t dying; he wasn’t ready to die, not yet. The blood in his lungs is uncomfortable but he doesn’t really _have_ to breathe when it comes down to it. So, he doesn’t. The sight of the antlers jutting out of him is unnerving, so he lays his head back and keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling.

 

He’s mad, god knows he is, but he understands. Michael is protecting his blood. David can’t blame him for that, hell, he’d do the same. He was _doing_ the same but now there’s nobody left. He might even be able to forgive Michael for it, maybe a few years in the future. Of course, the pesky Frog brothers weren’t blood and he might be more open to forgiving Michael after bleeding them both dry.

 

David decides he’d like to hear them scream. He’d watch them run, then watch them beg. Maybe, just maybe, their screams would replace that broken scream Marko let out as he died. It still rings in his ears. They’re still in the house, he can hear them, all self assured and congratulatory, thinking he’s actually dead.

 

The blood seeping from the wound is warm on his skin and his field of vision is framed with black shadows. His eyes slip closed as his mind swims with thoughts of revenge. He’s unconscious before Max makes it into the house.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh gross… He’s really stuck on there isn’t he?”

 

“That’s just part of the job, Sammy, suckers are annoying even after they’re dead.”

 

David’s eyes are still closed, he’s dragged out of a dreamless sleep by the feeling of his flesh pulling against the antlers. It’s even worse coming off then it was going down. His body already began stitching itself back together and now his flesh is grafted to the bone. He grits his teeth to keep from crying out; his fangs must have retracted when he was unconscious.

 

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s Michael who’s carrying him. David’s blood sings out to him from within Michael’s veins. He clears his mind and reaches out farther, but there’s nothing. He stays limp in Michael’s arms. He’s still alive and would really like to stay that way. Michael lifts him up and into the back of a pickup truck, then throws a tarp over the back. The smell of the boys-- _his_ boys--hangs thick in the air underneath the tarp.

 

Someone starts the truck and David can feel it rock with each dip in the rough road underneath the truck. Then, the wet squelching of his body trying to bring itself back together starts up. It doesn’t hurt, but it isn’t too nice to hear your internal organs trying to reconnect. The truck stops just as his ribs start to crack back into place. Again, he can feel Michael near; he can hear the tarp coming off.

 

The air smells like salt. David’s skin isn’t burning, so it must be night. It isn’t a courtesy to him, since they think he’s dead and all, it’s a preventative measure. You can’t move corpses during the day, even if sunlight isn’t deadly to you. It’s just common sense.

 

Michael picks him up first, since he’s on top of the other bodies. Under other circumstances, it could’ve been like this forever. Having Michael so close fills the radio static in the back of his head; it hasn’t been this quiet since before he was turned. There’s still time, David has all the time in the world. Star almost changed Michael’s mind, if he tries hard enough he might be able to do it too.

 

Then, Michael sets him down and leaves.

 

He comes back a few minutes later and David can hear the dead weight of another body falling next to him. Silence. Another body. Silence. Another body. Silence.

 

The silence gets louder, soul crushingly, overwhelmingly loud, but David’s blood still flows through Michael’s veins. He can feel him moving away, farther and farther. It’s the closest to alone David’s been in a long time.

 

The concept of pack creatures calls to mind werewolves, and David’s sure they must exist somewhere, since he is what he is, but vampires were not meant to be alone. They are stronger in numbers, usually able to overwhelm the most resourceful of humans. Emphasis on _usually._ David reaches out again, even though he knows it’s pointless. His mind is still so fucking empty.

 

He opens his eyes and pushes himself up until he’s sitting propped up against the wall. He’s back in the hotel and he’s _alive._ That’s all that matters. His eyes trail down to the bodies lying on the ground. Paul is burnt horribly, flesh clinging half melted to his bones. Dwayne is charred beyond recognition. Max’s stomach is destroyed, intestines hanging loose haphazardly.

 

David throws his head back and laughs.

 

He’s alive.

 

He’s alive, but everyone that ever mattered to him is dead.

 

What a great fucking cosmic joke.

 

At least with Max gone, he can start over. He can leave Santa Carla, he can make his own nest. He can stop the static in the back of his head that makes it hard to think. David wonders if Michael can feel that ache, if Star and Laddie feel it, if they feel that empty, gaping hole deep down inside. After all, they were only half. Not like him.

 

The sound of hissing pulls David from his thoughts, his vision comes into focus just in time to see the first hints of light pouring down into the hotel. Max’s arm is almost completely gone, crumbled away into ash where the light touches it. The sunlight creeps farther into the structure, swallowing up Max’s arm, then his torso.

 

David tries to stand but his legs feel weak, instead, he climbs up the wall. Close to the roof of the dilapidated building, he dips into a deep alcove and curls in on himself. It’s not the ideal spot to sleep, and he considers if it would’ve been better to just let himself burn. He closes his eyes and lets an uneasy sleep overwhelm him.

 

* * *

 

 

When he wakes, the bodies on the floor are gone. There’s nothing left of his boys, nothing but piles of ashes waiting to be blown away. He doesn’t have any pictures of all of them, not that they’d actually show up on film. All he has is their missing posters, collected as a joke and plastered on one of the walls of the hotel. Maybe someone’s still looking for him, but it’s been so long and he can’t just walk back into their lives looking exactly the same as the day he left. He’s a ghost of a person, unchanging and alone, both haunted and hunted.

 

David climbs down from the hideout in the wall and kicks the ashes up in the air. They drift slow and heavy back to the ground, almost like snowfall. The holes in his chest are healed by now, but the skin is still tender to the touch, all new. His legs still feel weak when he walks but he slinks out to the boardwalk anyway, hunger clawing against the wall of his stomach.

 

Normally, he likes a bit of a challenge, a hunt, but he’s tired and alone and starving. He walks through the crowd, looking for someone easy. A girl dances up next to him, eyes half lidded and teeth bared in a grin. Her hair's a mess, dyed bright blue and falling out of a ponytail.

 

“What’s a guy like you doin’ alone?” she laughs, pushing him playfully.

 

The question makes him see red and his fangs ache under the skin of his gums, so he grins, “Wanna give me some company?”

 

The girl smiles and grabs onto his arm, “Under the boardwalk?”

 

“Sure.”

 

They barely make it under the boardwalk before she pushes him up against one of the struts, hands on his waist. It’s nice to be close to someone, almost nice enough to just relax and see where it goes, but his hunger creeps up into his chest. David leans down and presses his lips to her neck; her pulse beats slow underneath her skin but he’s too hungry to care. His fangs extend and he tears into her neck.

 

The girl falls but he catches her in his arms. Her eyes are open, glaring at him accusingly, framed by purple glitter. He claws at her neck until her throat is completely torn out and laps up the blood as best he can. He hasn’t been this messy since his first kill, delirious and half feral with hunger after just being turned. Max’s words ring out, distorted by memory, chiding him for not keeping her alive because when they’re alive their hearts do the work for him.

 

She must’ve been on something. David’s sure of that. The world is suddenly fuzzy and soft and he feels dizzy. He stumbles over to the water and looks down at his face, all rippling and distorted. Water is the exception; mirrors and cameras both use silver. Blood is smeared from the tip of his nose down to his chin and he grins, flashing all his teeth like an animal. Then, he jumps up, taking to the air.

 

He reaches out, latches onto the quiet link he has to Michael. He might’ve killed Max, but David’s blood will always be within him, dormant and waiting for _something._ He almost hits the wall of the Emerson house, still buzzed on whatever the girl had in her bloodstream.

 

“Michael!” he knocks on the window, “Miiiiichael!”

 

There’s no answer other than the low hum at the back of David’s mind that means Michael is definitely still alive. He sits down on the windowsill and taps his fingers on the window, leaving behind sticky spots of blood as his long nails click against the smooth glass.

 

“C’mon Mikey! Don’t leave me hangin’ like this!”

 

The curtains open up and David presses his forehead against the glass, “Miss me?”

 

There’s a crash as Sam Emerson frantically skitters backwards; his voice cracks as he shouts, “David?!”

 

David smiles, “I’m harder to kill than you think. Where’s Michael?”

 

“He’s not gonna go with you!”

 

“He will. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but he will. He’s _mine,_ my blood is in his veins and I know he can feel it because I can feel it.”

 

Sam stands up again and cautiously approaches the window, “Look, I don’t know what your weird thing with Michael is but he doesn’t want that.”

 

“He’d be happy with me,” David crosses his arms.

 

“Is that what Max told you?”

 

“Shut up,” he snarls, “Don’t act like you know anything about me!”

 

“Jeez,” Sam holds his hands up, “Okay, I won’t ask any questions about how some weird guy ended up with four vampire teenagers... Why don’t you just go somewhere else? It’s gotta be better than getting staked by the Frog Brothers.”

 

David crosses his arms and thinks for a second. Max is dead, there’s nothing stopping him from going off and starting his own nest. And there have to be other places than Santa Carla that would work. He’d sooner die than go to the suburbs, there’s nothing to do after ten pm. But there might be another city. There might be another boardwalk, or something better. There might even be another hotel. It wouldn’t be the same, nothing ever would be, but it wouldn’t be so quiet anymore.

 

Sam finally speaks up, “I’d feel about siccing the Frogs on you when you look like that…”

 

David growls at him, making sure his fangs are fully visible.

 

“Calm down! I’m just saying you look dead. But. Like, extra dead, since you are _dead._ ” Sam runs his fingers across the soft skin under his eyes, “You’ve got, like, crazy dark circles.”

 

“Yeah, ‘cus your friends almost _killed me!”_

 

Sam sits down on the bed and props his feet up on the window sill, “I thought vampires healed really fast.”

 

“This _is_ fast! The big holes in my chest are totally gone! You’d be dead if it happened to you, so you really don’t have anything to complain about!”

 

“Y’know, you’d be pretty cool if you weren’t a vampire…”

 

David snarls again.

 

“That really isn’t that scary when you do it all the time, dude,” Sam laughs, then remembers who he’s talking to and stops, “You should leave. And you also shouldn’t kill me because I’m being nice.”

 

David sighs and leans against the window, “How’s Star?”

 

“Uh, she’s--she’s good.”

 

“Is she happy?”

 

“I mean, she’s dealing… She got a really bad sunburn today but it wasn’t like ‘her skin is actually literally burning’ sunburn. Just normal sunburn.”

 

David smiles, mostly to himself. Star always missed her old life the most. She’d probably be happy with Michael, and one day, when he wants to be what he was meant to become, David could come back. Right now, there’s nothing left.

 

Sam knocks on the glass twice, “You should go, it’s almost morning. Also, I’m really bad at lying and the Frogs are probably gonna find out that you’re still alive eventually.”

 

David nods and slides off the windowsill, taking flight yet again.

 

* * *

 

 

The next night he boards his motorcycle and heads for the city limits, stopping only to drain a lone gas station attendant. He has ten hours to find a place to hole up for the day and an open highway ahead of him. The wind rushing past his ears drowns out the silence in his mind, the thread tying him to Michael becomes quieter and quieter as he gets farther away.

 

It isn’t a goodbye, not really. He’ll be back. After all, Santa Carla is home. He’s got all the time in the world, might as well spend some of it on the road. He just needs space, that’s all. That, and some time. He can build up a new nest and come back. He can kill the Frogs and take back the hotel and everything will be perfect again when Michael decides to come home. After all, it’s not really running away if you’re going to come back.


End file.
